Thomas Brooks

Not Meant To Be Found

I walk parallel to the creek reflecting on my night at the bar. It was filled with drinking, friends, and laughter. A hiccup escapes my body. A stumble informs me of how drunk I am. My belligerent foot bumps into something, the object skids off in the darkness. I pull out my phone and turn on the flashlight. That’s odd, it’s a book. I pick it up and closely examine it. It smells ancient and the black leather has a nice patina. On the front there’s a stamped hour glass and the pages are worn. I think nothing of the book, place it into my jacket pocket and continue the stupor home.